Dueling Fics
by 3rdgal
Summary: Don hurt comfort by 2 authors. See chapter 1 for explanation.
1. Introduction

So, once again, through boredom and overactive imagination, I put a challenge to my ET: Take this list and write a story and I'll do the same. My objective was to see how similar the two stories would be. No swapping and no betaing.

We found it impossible to write the stories without sending them back and forth to one another. 'Co-dependent' is the correct term, I suppose. Oh well...

The premise - set up an outline you both agree on with random points. Each person takes this outline and writes their own story, swap and enjoy! We decided to dispense with titles and just run with it.

That said, if anyone else wants to give it a try, feel free.

On with the show...

This is the list we used:

Don-centric  
One shot  
Other people involved  
Family  
Hurt/comfort  
Third-person point-of-view  
Physical injury (head)  
Superficial  
Home  
Accidental  
Stoic  
Use the word 'rising'

We hope you all like them.

3rdgal and rittenden


	2. 3rdgal's

When Charlie had suggested they decorate the house with Christmas lights, Alan had been thrilled. He and Margaret had been doing that ever since the boys had grown up, but the tradition had stopped right after her death – the memories associated with the festive lights too raw and painful to face. But Alan felt – and obviously Charlie did, too – that enough time had passed to give their old tradition another shot. Charlie had even insisted on buying brand new, blinking icicle lights to hang from the roof. Of course in typical Charlie fashion, the young professor had been so wrapped up in school, work, and his research, that the lights were in serious danger of spending the entire holiday season still in the box.

One cool winter day, under a cloudless Los Angeles sky, Alan decided he might as well take matters into his own hands. He carefully removed the lights from the box and climbed his trusty old ladder to the highest peak of the roof. He was just about to string the lights when he heard Don's worried voice calling from below.

"What are you doing up there?"

Biting his tongue to keep from asking, 'What does it look like I'm doing?', the older man gave a patient smile. "Your brother wanted to decorate this year. He bought the lights but he's been too busy to hang them."

"So he asked you to do it?" Don demanded angrily. "You're…"

"Too old to be up this high?" Alan finished with a hint of irritation in his voice.

"Well," Don mumbled uncertainly. "Well… yeah."

"Don Eppes I am perfectly capable of climbing a ladder and hanging Christmas lights. Besides, your brother didn't ask me – I thought I'd surprise him when he got home tonight."

"Still," Don protested, although in a much more respectful tone of voice. "You should have made sure someone was here with you in case something happened." Don shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it onto the hood of his SUV. "Since I'm here, do you mind if _I_ hang the lights?"

"Don-"

"I want to," the agent cut him off. Seeing his father's doubtful expression, he reluctantly admitted, "And I'd feel better if you were down here safe and sound and I was the one up there in the stratosphere. I don't want you to fall and break your neck."

Heaving a sigh, although secretly pleased to be getting out of what he was certain was going to be a backbreaking chore, Alan nodded. "Knock yourself out." He quickly descended the ladder and clapped his son on the shoulder. "Although I don't think you really know what you're getting yourself into."

"It'll be fun," Don grinned. "'Tis the season and all that."

"Right," his father chuckled. "So, you want me to get you a drink? You'll probably be out here a while."

"That would be great," Don smiled as he carefully climbed the ladder. "You know where to find me."

Alan entered the house and headed straight for the kitchen, opening the fridge and bypassing the beer – _not while he's up that high,_ he thought. He opted for making two mugs of hot chocolate – Margaret's recipe – that no one in their family could ever turn down. A few minutes later he had poured one mug and was about to start on the second when a loud crashing noise and a dull thump sounded through the open kitchen window. He rushed outside, his heart leaping into his throat at what he saw.

"Donny!" Alan frantically called as he rushed toward his oldest son's crumpled form. "Donny, answer me!" He tugged Don's arms away from his face, his heart rising to lodge in his throat at the bloody gash he saw on his son's temple. _Please let him be alright,_ he silently pleaded. "_Donny!_"

"What?" the other man finally rasped in irritation. "Why are you yelling in my ear? You're giving me a headache."

"No, son, I think the fall off the ladder did that."

"Ladder?" Don asked in bewilderment as he squinted at his surroundings. "What ladder?"

"That one," his father replied as he gestured behind his son's back. Seeing the confusion still present on Don's face, he asked with growing concern, "You don't remember?"

The younger man slowly twisted around to look at the fallen ladder behind him, his eyes widening in shock. "I was… I was on the ladder…"

Not sure if Don was asking a question or not, Alan nodded and asked, "The Christmas lights, remember? You were hanging them for me so I wouldn't 'fall and break my neck'." Trying to lighten the mood and wipe the anxious look off his son's face, he added dryly, "I didn't need a demonstration."

"Didn't break my neck," Don groused as he turned back around to look up at his father's worried features.

"No, but you nearly cracked your skull open. Can you stand up?"

"Of course," Don snapped as he tried to push himself upright, wobbling dangerously until his father grabbed him under his arms to steady him. "See?"

"Right," Alan sighed, draping his son's arm around his shoulders for support. "Let's get you inside and take a look at that."

"What?"

"Your head is bleeding, Don."

"Oh," the dazed man replied. "Okay."

Don's disorientation was setting off alarm bells in his head and he wanted nothing more to get him settled inside, check out his head, and call for an ambulance if necessary. Once they'd entered the house, Alan gently deposited his son on the couch with a firm, "Stay put." He went into the kitchen and grabbed some damp paper towels and the first aid kit, idly thinking about how handy that little investment had been throughout the years.

As he entered the living room, he was dismayed to find Don swaying on his feet. "Donny! I told you to stay put!"

"Gotta put the ladder up," the other man replied, completely oblivious to the bleeding gash on his head.

"_Now_ you remember the ladder," Alan muttered. Seeing the confused look on Don's face, Alan patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. "I'll take care of that in a minute," he promised as he pushed his son to sit on the couch. "Right now I need to take care of _you_. Hold still while I look at your head."

"I'll be alright."

"With a head as hard as yours I'm sure you will, but humor me, okay?" Alan gently blotted away the blood until he could see a two inch gash marring his son's temple. "That might need stitches," he observed aloud.

"It's fine," Don insisted as he weakly batted at his father's hand.

"Did you lose consciousness?"

"I don't think so," the younger man replied.

"_Think?_" Alan repeated, barely containing his panic. "Okay, that's it. We're going to the hospital."

"No," the agent insisted. "I don't need a hospital."

"Oh," Alan replied sarcastically. "I'm sorry – you thought this matter was up for debate?"

"I'm not going," Don stated with conviction. As he saw's his father's eyes blaze with determination, he hastily added, "And you can't make me."

"Head wounds are serious, Don. You should know that."

"Dad."

"Don." Seeing that his son wasn't going to budge, the older man changed tactics. "How about I call an ambulance?"

"Whatever," Don sighed. "But I'm not going with them either."

"Do you enjoy making me worry?" Alan demanded angrily, knowing it was a cheap shot but unable to control his frustration.

"I told you _not_ to worry – I'm fine."

"Well at least let me make you up an ice pack and get you some pain killers."

"I wouldn't argue with that at all," Don said thankfully.

Alan nodded and left Don alone while he went to the kitchen. He slipped the cordless phone from his pocket and, making sure to keep his voice low, made a single phone call.

--

_So… I fell from a ladder, huh?_ Don wondered to himself. _Odd that I don't remember it, but that's normal for a head wound… right? _He reached up and probed the sore spot on his head, making a disgusted face when his fingers came away sticky. _No wonder I have a killer headache. _His stomach churned as he studied the red substance coating his fingers. _It seems to have bled a lot, too. No wonder Dad was so upset._

"Here you go," his father said as he entered the room, his voice startling Don. _Man, I must be spacey – I didn't even hear Dad coming._ "Donny?"

"Thanks, Dad," he answered as he accepted the Tylenol and glass of water his father held out to him. After he swallowed the pills he closed his eyes and allowed his father to adjust the ice pack on his head, relishing the numbing relief it brought to the constant throbbing.

"Better?"

"Much, thanks." He heard his father sit in the chair beside him and sensed the hawk-like eyes watching him, waiting for something to go wrong. "I told you I'm fine."

"Yes you did," the older man replied doubtfully.

Don let out a frustrated sigh and tried to ignore the intense gaze boring a hole in him. "You going to sit there all day?" Don finally snapped, instantly regretting the harshness of his words.

"No, just until-" His father was cut off by a knock at the door and Don's eyes immediately shot open.

"You didn't."

"Call an ambulance?" Alan asked as he quirked an eyebrow. He let the question hang in the air as he walked to the front door, finally responding as he placed his hand on the knob. "No, but I should have."

The puzzled agent watched as his father swung open the door to reveal their long-time neighbor, Roger Borden – Doctor Roger Borden. "Dad," he groaned. "For the last time-"

"I know, I know," his father interrupted. "You're fine. So if you're so fine, it won't hurt for Roger to take a look at you, now will it?" Turning to his neighbor, Alan gave him a rueful smile as he gestured him inside. "I appreciate you coming over, Roger. I apologize in advance for Don's behavior."

"Not a problem, Alan," he said with a wink. "Head wounds tend to make even the most even-tempered people a little short." Crossing the living room with a few long strides, Borden took a seat on the coffee table in front of his patient. "Long time no see, Don. How have you been?"

"Busy," the agent replied with a sigh. "I'm sorry my father called you over here for this. I'm fine, really."

"You should always have any head wound checked out. You haven't learned that at the Bureau?" Don shrugged and the doctor patiently smiled. "Well, now you know. So tell me, do you remember falling off the ladder?"

"Not really," Don admitted. "Just being on the ladder with the lights and then hearing Dad yelling in my ear. The part in between is really fuzzy."

"He didn't remember the lights when I first found him," Alan quickly clarified, casting a scolding look at his son. "I had to remind him."

"Well I remember it now," the injured man grumbled.

"That's normal," Doctor Borden stated to both men. "This is the important part though – did you lose consciousness at all?"

"No." "He doesn't remember." The two Eppes men spoke at the same time and both fixed the other with an exasperated look.

"I see," the doctor chuckled. "Don, be honest with me, okay?" At the agent's nod, he asked again, "Is there any possibility that you might have blacked out? Even for a second?"

"I suppose there's a slim chance, but I really don't think I did."

"Okay," Borden nodded. "Thanks for being honest. Let me check a couple of other things." He pulled a penlight from his shirt pocket and gently held Don's eyelids open, shining the light into his eyes. "That's good, very good," he quietly observed. Switching off the light, he smiled and patted Don's knee. "Your pupils are reacting well and they're both of the same, normal size."

"That's good," Alan commented ignoring the I-told-you-so look his son was giving him.

"Any nausea? Dizziness? Soreness or weakness in your limbs?"

"No, a little, and no," Don answered.

"Good," Borden grinned. "Now, let me see if this wound needs stitches." He carefully turned Don's head to the side and prodded around the edge of the bloody wound. "Not too deep or wide," he observed. "A couple of butterfly bandages should do the trick."

"Feel better, Dad?" Don wearily inquired.

"I hate to get between a father and son like this, but…" Borden waited until both men were looking at him to continue. "You do need someone to keep an eye on you, Don. Sometimes the more serious symptoms don't show up right away."

"How long before we know for sure?" Alan asked, concern filling his voice.

"Usually twenty-four hours is sufficient," Roger told them. "I'd like you to wake him say, every other hour. Make sure he's responsive and make sure he's speaking clearly, not slurring his words. If he does then you need to call an ambulance right away. Also," he began as he turned to Don, "You need to let your father know if you experience any weakness in your limbs or if you feel nauseous or if you're headache gets to the point that it's unbearable, alright?"

"Sure," Don agreed.

"I mean it, Don," Doctor Borden sternly stated. "This could turn into something very serious. You can't have that tough FBI agent mentality for this."

"I'll let Dad know," Don said sincerely. Looking at his father's worried face, he felt a pang of guilt and sought to ease his father's mind. "I promise I will, Dad." At Alan's nod, Don sighed in relief and allowed his eyes to close while Doctor Borden cleaned and bandaged the gash on his head.

"There you go," the neighbor said as he packed up his kit. "Don't hesitate to call me if you have any questions."

"You really think he would hesitate?" Don chuckled softly as he cracked his eyes open and gestured in the direction of his father.

"No, because he's a very smart man. I'll see you around, Don. Take care."

Don waved goodbye to Borden and let his eyes slide shut again, wincing as the throbbing headache started to return. He was close to dozing off, but still alert enough to hear his father and their neighbor speaking softly by the door. After a few minutes the voices stopped and the front door opened and closed. Another moment passed and Don felt his father's fingers tenderly smooth the skin just above the head wound.

"More painkillers?" Alan asked.

"Yeah, thanks."

Alan disappeared for a moment and quickly returned with two more Tylenol and a blanket and pillow. He handed the pills to Don and shook out the blanket. "You don't really look like you're up for stairs," he explained. "Or any movement, for that matter."

"Good call, Dad. This headache is for the birds." He cautiously shifted, his father's hand steadying him, until he was lying on his side on the couch. He smiled softly as Alan placed the blanket around him, carefully tucking him in. "I'm not a kid," he mumbled. "But thanks."

"Anytime, son. Go to sleep and I'll wake you in a couple of hours."

"'Kay," Don whispered. As he relaxed against the comfortable cushions he felt his father's hand smooth through his hair. "Felt that," he smiled sleepily.

"Shh," Alan soothed. "You owe me this much for worrying me to death."

"Fair enough," the agent said around a yawn. _Odd,_ he thought sleepily. _I swear Dad's touch makes the throbbing lessen._ With that comforting thought, Don focused on his father's touch and slowly descended into a deep sleep.

--

"Go 'way," Don grumbled.

Alan took a deep breath, reminded himself to be patient, and tried again. "Don Eppes, wake up this minute."

"'M awake," the agent grumbled. "'Cause you won't be quiet."

"Alright then," the older man said with a slight grin. "What day is it?"

"The last day I ever do a favor for you or Charlie."

_That's my boy,_ Alan smiled inwardly. "Where are you?"

"On a comfortable couch wishing I had a universal mute button."

"I bet," his father chuckled, his concern easing as Don not only answered his questions, but did so with a sense of humor. "What do you want for supper?"

"Let's not talk about food."

"Are you nauseous?" Alan demanded, worry instantly returning to gripping his heart.

"No," Don quickly replied as if he knew where his father's thoughts were headed. "Don't worry, I'm just not hungry." He wearily dragged his eyes open and fixed his father with a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, Dad. Honest."

"Okay, Don. I trust you." Alan reached out and gently patted his shoulder. "Go back to sleep now."

"My pleasure," Don sighed as he sank even further into the couch.

Alan stood and watched for a few minutes until Don's breathing had evened out and he was sure his son was resting comfortably. Setting his watch alarm for exactly two hours, he made his way into the kitchen and began rummaging through the cabinets and refrigerator as he tried to figure out what to make for supper. Although Don had said he wasn't hungry, Alan wanted him to have something to eat that would be easy on his stomach if he changed his mind. His decision made, he gathered the ingredients and began to prepare homemade chicken soup.

--

Charlie strolled into his Craftsman house, glad to be out of the office and home for the night. He was looking forward to the upcoming weekend and had actually made plans to take some time off to decorate the house with his newly purchased lights. He couldn't suppress a grin as he thought of the look of joy that would be on his father's face once the lights were shining from the roof of the house.

Slipping out of his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack by the front door, Charlie sniffed the air and smelled the pleasant aroma of his father's chicken soup. _Dad only makes that soup when one of us is sick,_ Charlie thought to himself. _I hope he's okay._

As he headed toward the kitchen a lump on the couch caught his eye. He walked closer and was able to make out his brother's prone form under a blanket. _Oh, I guess Don's the one that's sick._ Wanting to make sure his brother was okay, Charlie quietly crept to the couch and peered down at his older brother. His eyes widened at the gash that marred the other man's head. "Don?" he asked with concern. "You okay, bro?" Don remained silent and still, oblivious to his brother's words. "Don?" Charlie repeated as he lightly shook his brother's shoulder. "_Don?_"

His worry grew and Charlie hastily made his way into the kitchen. "Dad!"

Alan looked up from his position over the stove and smiled. "I didn't know you were home."

"What's wrong with Don?"

"Oh, he fell and hit his head today. I was making him some soup for when he wakes up."

"Is he okay?" Charlie demanded. "I was just in there and he slept through me calling his name."

"What?" Alan exclaimed as he abandoned the pot on the stove and flew past Charlie. The professor followed him to Don's side and watched as Alan knelt in front of the couch and began lightly slapping his brother's cheek.

"Donny! Son, wake up!" Charlie watched as his father pulled the blanket away and lifted Don to sit upright, wincing as his head limply lolled to the side. "Donny! Open your eyes this minute!"

"Hur's," the injured man slurred.

Charlie had to strain to hear the one word that slipped from his brother's lips and he immediately felt fear churning in his stomach. _Don never admits when he's in pain._ "Dad? Should I-"

"Call for an ambulance," his father said as he continued to work with the unresponsive agent, patting his cheek and shaking his shoulders. "Come on, son. Wake up for me."

Charlie stood rooted to the spot as his mind swirled in a million different directions. He had just come home on a Friday night with a nice, relaxing weekend planned, but somehow he'd wound up in the middle of a nightmare. _Dad said he hurt his head but he didn't tell me how. If Don had gotten hurt at work surely someone would have called me, right? So what-_

"Charlie!"

His father's voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he nodded, scrambling for the phone and dialing nine-one-one. "I need an ambulance," he told the operator. "My brother hit his head and he's not responding to us."

"Is he conscious or completely unresponsive?"

"My dad's managed to wake him up but he's not really lucid."

"Okay," the operator said. "I've got an ambulance on the way. Try to keep him awake and try to get him to respond to you. I'll stay on the line in case you need me."

"Thanks," Charlie told her as he returned to his brother's side, setting the phone down on the end table. "Dad?"

"He's completely out of it," Alan worried as he cradled Don's face in his hands. "I can't get him to say anything except that it hurts."

"There's an ambulance on its way," the professor told his father. "The operator said we should keep trying to get him to talk."

"I _am_ trying, Charlie," the older man snapped. "You want to give it a shot?"

"Hey, Don!" Charlie called loudly as he sat next to his brother on the couch. "Look at me, Don!" The agent's head rolled in the direction of the professor's voice, but he made no attempt to speak. "Don, wake up!" Charlie roughly grabbed the other man's chin and leaned in until their noses were practically touching. "If you don't wake up right now, I'll dig up my copy of your initiation photo for your college baseball team and give it to Colby and David. Remember? The one of you in that nice, slinky red dress?"

Don's eyes blinked and he seemed to be trying to focus on his brother. "…Wouldn't."

"I most certainly will if you don't start talking to me right now." Easing his grip on the injured man's chin and lowering his voice, Charlie added, "It's important that you stay awake and talk to us, bro. I know you can do it."

Don's face creased in pain as he tried to lift a hand to his head. "Really hur's."

"I know it does, Don," Charlie whispered, seizing his brother's hand to prevent him from messing with the gash on his head. "Help's on the way so you just need to hang in there for me, okay?"

"'Kay," Don nodded, swallowing deeply against the wave a dizziness that accompanied the movement. "Dad's… mad?"

"Mad?" Alan asked as he perched on the edge of the coffee table. "Why would I be mad?"

"Didn't put… ladder… up."

"I told you I'd take care of that," the worried father soothed as he grasped his oldest son's hand and gently squeezed. "You just focus on getting better."

Before Don could respond they three were interrupted by a loud siren accompanied by flashing lights drifting through the living room window. Charlie met the paramedics at the door and escorted them to the living room sofa, horrified to find that Don had lapsed back into unconsciousness.

"He hit his head?" one of the medics asked, gently probing the area around the gash.

"Yes," Alan replied. "He fell off of a ladder this afternoon."

_He what?_ Charlie exclaimed to himself.

"He seemed okay?" the medic doubtfully asked.

"He was responsive and lucid," the oldest Eppes assured him. "I had a neighbor who is a doctor come over and check him out. He said he seemed fine but gave me a list of symptoms to watch out for. When I had a hard time waking him up we called you."

"That was the right thing to do," the other man assured him. "We're going to transport him in to the hospital for a closer examination and run some tests. One of you can ride with us and the other might want to grab an overnight bag because the doctors will probably want to admit him for observation."

"I'll ride," Alan told his youngest son. "Since I know more about his situation. You can swing by his apartment and grab some of his things?"

"Sure," Charlie said flatly, his mind running over every worse case scenario that might happen to his brother. His father's hand on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts.

"He'll be okay, Charlie. You know that, right?"

_No, I don't,_ the younger man thought angrily. _I don't know that at all. Just like I didn't know he was hurt in the first place or even what he was doing up on that stupid ladder!_ But somehow he found himself saying, "Of course I know that. It's Don we're talking about."

"That's right," his father smiled brightly. "I'll meet you at the hospital after a while. I have my cell if you need me." And with those last words, Charlie watched as the two medics, his brother and his father disappeared out the front door, leaving him alone with less than comforting thoughts.

--

Alan nervously eyed the waiting room clock for at least the tenth time in as many minutes. He'd been sitting in the uncomfortable chair for more than two hours and he was starting to lose his patience. What was going on with Don? Where was a doctor or nurse who could update him? And where was Charlie? Did it really take that long to run by Don's apartment and grab some of his things?

_I need to keep busy,_ Alan told himself. _Then I won't notice how long this is taking and I won't focus on everything that could be going wrong._

He flung himself off the couch and stalked to the waiting room's vending area, feeding a ridiculous amount of change into the drink machine. He made his selection and scowled when no can appeared. _Of course that would go wrong,_ he sighed inwardly. _Everything else has – why not this, too?_

His frustration with all of the events of the day boiled over and Alan found himself banging on the vending machine as if it were the reason he was here and his son was lying somewhere in God knows what condition. "Give me my drink," he growled softly, his anger growing as the machine refused to give up its treasure. "I need… I need…"

"Sir?"

Alan turned to find a security guard beside him, no doubt sent by the nervous looking nurse behind the admitting desk. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm just worried about my sons. One's here and I don't know how he is and the other's kind of missing at the moment."

"I understand, sir," the uniformed man nodded in sympathy. "But you can't be damaging hospital property like that." Giving him a very sympathetic look, the young guard held out his hand. "My name is George. Is there someone I can call for you…" He quirked his eyebrow in question.

"Alan Eppes," the weary father informed him as he shook his hand. "And yes, if you can wave a magic wand and make my youngest son appear, I'd really appreciate it."

"Dad!" Charlie called as he scampered through the ER's automatic doors.

"Wow, George, that's some power you've got."

"All in a day's work, Mister Eppes," he winked. "Now that you're in good hands, I'll leave you two alone. Try not to assault any more vending machines though, okay?"

"You have my word." Alan waved as the guard walked away and then turned on his son. "Where have you been? I'm already worried sick about Don and then you disappear on me? Do I need to tell you what kind of thoughts were running through my head?"

"I'm sorry, Dad," Charlie said contritely. "Traffic was horrible."

"Didn't I tell you I'd have my cell? You couldn't call and ease my mind?"

"I'm sorry," Charlie snapped. "I'm a little off my game today, too. You're not the only one worried about Don."

The accusation slammed into Alan like a ton of bricks and he felt the anger go out of him as he tiredly sank into a nearby chair. "Of course you are, Charlie. I'm sorry I was being insensitive."

"No problem, Dad," the professor assured him as he took a seat beside him. "Any word on Don?"

"No," the older man sighed. "I just want to know that he's okay, see him, and then go about getting him home with us."

"Me too."

The two men lapsed into silence and tried to fight back the suffocating thoughts of what might be happening – might be going wrong – behind the ER entrance. Neither one could bring themselves to look in that direction and both made sure to keep their eyes off the clock. A lifetime later, a nurse strolled through the doors and made a beeline for the Eppes. "Don Eppes' family?"

"Yes!" they exclaimed in unison. "How is he?"

"He's still undergoing some tests right now – a CT scan and an MRI," she explained. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting for so long but we've been slammed today. I did want to let you know that Don is awake and talking to us, albeit very groggily. Still, that's a great sign."

"Thank God," Alan breathed.

"He's definitely got a concussion and we're currently trying to ascertain how severe it is. I'll go ahead and warn you, unless those tests some back completely normal, we're going to keep him overnight for observation."

"I'd feel better if you did," Alan informed her. "I don't want to go through him not waking up again. That scared quite a few years off my life."

"I have children, Mr. Eppes. I can imagine. I have to get back in there but I just wanted to let you know not to worry about Don. I'll be back to bring you to see him as soon as it's feasible, alright?"

"Yes," the older man nodded. "Thank you so much."

She nodded and disappeared through the doors separating Alan from his oldest son. "See, Charlie?" he asked shakily. "I told you he would be okay."

"Never doubted it," the young professor replied. "Now that we have a minute, will you please tell me what happened? Why was Don on a ladder to begin with?"

"Have a seat, Charlie," his father said as he plopped back into the uncomfortable chair. "I'll tell you all about my morning."

--

"Agent Eppes?" a soft, kind voice asked. "You didn't fall asleep on me, did you?"

_How could I with you talking to me every five seconds?_ he groused to himself. _Maybe if I ignore her…_

"Agent Eppes!" Louder, more harsh, and accompanied by an insistent shaking on his shoulder.

_Maybe not._ "I'm awake," he mumbled.

"I need you to open your eyes for me, okay?"

Don begrudgingly obeyed, scowling at the young, pretty nurse leaning over him. "Happy now?"

"Almost," she grinned. "Answer a few questions for me and I will be. What's my name?"

Don stealthily slid his gaze to the name tag on her shirt. "Andrea."

Realizing what he'd done, she playfully slapped him on the shoulder. "No cheating. What hospital are you in?"

Heaving a weary sigh, Don muttered, "UCLA."

"Very good," Andrea beamed in approval. "And why are you here?"

"Because no good deed goes unpunished." At her worried look, he couldn't help but chuckle. "Sorry, little joke there. I fell off a ladder while trying to hang Christmas lights at my brother's house. Hit my head and the rest is history."

"Very good, Agent Eppes."

"Don," he corrected her as he glanced down at the gown he was wearing. "Considering you've probably seen me in my altogether, you don't need to be so formal."

"Okay, Don," she nodded. "Well, you answered the questions correctly, you're not slurring your words, and you seem to be in less pain. Am I correct?"

"Yeah," he nodded slowly. "Just a little throbbing, but nothing too bad."

"Excellent! Your doctor will be in to see you very shortly and I suspect he'll be keeping you here overnight."

"I'm fine," Don argued, wincing at the somewhat whiny nature of his voice.

"I'm sure you are, but this is just a precaution." She winked at him and patted his hand. "Besides, having some eye candy like you around the hospital will certainly brighten my Christmas."

Don turned a deep shade of red as he floundered for a suitable comeback. _Stupid drugs are throwing me off my game._

"While we're waiting, I think there are a couple of people who want to see you. Is it okay if I bring them in?"

"Please do." He watched as Andrea disappeared from his room and steeled himself for the third degree his father was about to subject him to. He heard footsteps approaching and pasted a reassuring grin on his face just as his father and brother walked through the door.

"Donny!" Alan cried joyfully as he rushed to the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better," the agent told him. "Just a little headache, but that's it."

"Thank God," his father breathed in relief as he laid his hand on Don's brow, his fingers tracing the outline of the fresh bandage on his son's temple.

"You had us both worried sick," Charlie told him.

"Sorry about that. Wait a minute – you weren't even home."

"I came home and found you on the couch, dead to the world." His face paled as he realized his poor choice of words. "I mean…"

"It's okay, Buddy. I know what you mean." Don reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go.

"Dad told me about what happened this morning. You really made him get down because he was too old to be up on that ladder?"

"I was worried," Don shrugged as he gestured at his head. "As you can see, accidents do happen."

"True," Charlie nodded as a mischievous grin crept onto his face. "Say, Don, does this mean that _you're_ too old to be up on a ladder?"

"Hey!" Don yelled in protest. "No kicking a man when he's down."

"I'm sorry," Charlie apologized without even a trace of sincerity. "But that gets me to thinking."

"About?" Don asked, a wary look in his eyes.

"I should take back the gift I got you and get you something more useful." He cautiously stepped just out of Don's reach before adding, "I hear they make canes in all sorts of festive designs these days."

--

It was a surprisingly cool Christmas night and the lights adorning all of the neighborhood houses twinkled in the crisp air. Don smiled at the brilliantly lit street – dozens of reindeer and giant inflatable Christmas icons filling yards and walkways. As he turned back to his brother's house and lifted his gaze he couldn't help but think their house was the best. The brightly colored lights twinkled as the strands drifted in the breeze. The mood was made all the more special as the faint sounds of Christmas carols drifted through the Eppes' front door, surrounding Don with a magical feeling he hadn't really experienced since childhood.

"They look very nice, don't they?" Alan asked as he quietly slipped from the house to join Don in the front yard.

"Very," Don agreed. With a wry grin, he noted, "I see Charlie has the ladder climbing skills in the family."

"So it would appear," his father chuckled. "Here," he said as he handed Don a mug. "Eggnog – your mother's recipe."

"Thanks." Don sipped the thick, creamy drink and the let the accompanying memories wash over him. "She'd have been happy to see the lights up this year."

"Yes, she would." Alan stepped closer to his son. "You know what would make her even happier?"

"What's that?"

"That we're all here together for the Holidays. In fact, I think she was planning on us spending the time together."

"Oh?"

"Yes," his father nodded wisely. "I don't think it was coincidence you made it through that fall as well as you did. I think someone up there had an eye on you."

A warm feeling of love and security surrounded Don's heart and he smiled at his father. "I think you're right." Looking at the front window, Don couldn't help but burst into laughter at Charlie's eager form beckoning them into the house. "I think Chuck wants to exchange gifts."

"Right," Alan sighed. "You boys never did buy into my explanation that you would have gotten more gifts if we celebrated Hanukah instead."

Don playfully elbowed his father. "That's because between you and mom and Santa we always had a ton more than eight gifts."

"Well, this is one year that I'm grateful to have received my present."

"We haven't exchanged gifts yet," Don said in confusion.

"My gift is right in front of me, healthy and whole and home with his family."

Don choked up at the intense, unconditional love in his father's voice. "Dad," he whispered, not saying anything more because he knew his voice would crack with emotion.

Alan stepped closer and wrapped his arms around his oldest son's frame, smiling when Don's arms slipped around him and returned the embrace. "I love you, Donny. Don't ever forget that."

"I won't, Dad. Happy Belated Hanukah."

"And Merry Christmas, too."

"Can you guys not see me?" Charlie's voice interrupted the moment as he poked his head out the front door. "It's gift time!"

"We're coming," Alan sighed in mock annoyance.

"Good," the professor grinned. "I can't wait to see how you like yours, Don."

"I'm sure I'll love it," Don said good naturedly. "But Charlie?"

"Yeah?"

"If it's a cane you'll be the one needing it – not me."

The End


	3. rittenden's

"Charlie – where are you?" Don Eppes moved through his childhood home in search of his brother. "Charlie?"

"In the garage," the mathematician's voice floated through the closed door. "Working."

Don stepped into the cool interior of the garage, his gaze quickly taking in the myriad chalkboards propped against every available surface. "What the heck…?" he muttered. In a louder tone he said, "Charlie… I've called you eight times already."

"Seven."

"What?" The older man's brow furrowed in confusion. "Seven what?"

Charlie turned to face him, a nub of chalk in his uplifted hand. "You called me seven times, Don. Not eight."

"You heard me?" Don asked. At his brother's nod, he went on, "Why didn't you answer, then?"

"There wasn't much point in answering before you could hear what I said," Charlie replied. "Besides… I was in the middle of something." He resumed writing on the board in front of him.

Anger welled in Don's chest. "You – you could have spared half a second to answer me, Chuck," he bit out. "I might actually have something important to say. It happens, even to those of us who aren't geniuses."

Charlie winced at the sarcastic tone in his brother's voice. Setting the chalk down on the ledge, he dusted his hands on his jeans and focused his attention on the other man. "You're right, of course," he apologized. "That was thoughtless of me."

Only slightly mollified, Don gestured to the boards around them. "What is all this, anyway?" he asked.

"My Cognitive Emergence Theory," Charlie replied. "I had a breakthrough when I was cooking supper, and…" His voice trailed off as realization dawned and his jaw dropped open. "Oh no," he whispered. "Supper."

"I shut it off. Relax," Don said with a sigh. He moved to study one of the boards perched precariously on a stepladder. "What does all this mean, anyway?" he asked.

Charlie opened his mouth to launch into an explanation of his pet project, only to snap it shut the next second. _Don doesn't want to hear all that,_ he thought. Instead he answered, "It's me attempting to map out thought using mathematics."

Don glanced at him, his eyebrows raised. "Think that'll work, do you?"

"Yeah." Charlie watched his brother move from board to board, his eyes roving across the complex equations. "I should go see if I can salvage supper," he said at last. "Dad'll be home before too long, wanting something to eat."

"He's back from Fresno?"

Charlie nodded as he headed for the door. "Got back last night. Had the final meeting with his client this afternoon." He paused in the doorway to look at his brother, who had moved from the stepladder to a board resting against a stack of others on the floor. "I'll be back in a few minutes," he added.

Don bent to study the board, then reached out, pulling it away from its fellows and looking at the one behind it. "I'll be there in a second," he said absently. "Get me a beer, will you?"

"Sure." Charlie went through the door and headed for the kitchen. He picked up the pot Don had put in the sink, scowling at its blackened contents. "So much for creamed carrots," he murmured, setting it back down and turning the tap on. He waited until the pot was full of water before turning off the faucet and moving to the refrigerator. "Let's see," he said, opening the door and sticking his head into the cool interior. "Maybe a salad instead." He reached in, grabbed the bottle Don had asked for with one hand while opening the crisper with the other and rummaging through its contents.

A loud crash from somewhere in the direction of the garage brought Charlie upright so quickly he banged the top of his head on the upper door of the fridge. He put the bottle back on the shelf and swung the door shut, already halfway to the garage before the magnetic seal made contact with the rest of the appliance. "Don!" he called out in panic. "Don!"

Bursting through the doorway Charlie skidded to a stop just inside the garage. One of the large chalkboards that had been fastened to the exposed stringers of the wall at an angle was now lying on the floor. The board previously standing on the stepladder was also on the floor, along with the smaller ones that had been stacked against the wall. Charlie's breath caught as he recognized a familiar figure at the bottom of the haphazard pile. "Don!" he shouted, his feet moving again. He dropped to his knees at his brother's side and began removing the boards, careful not to jostle his brother's still form too much. By the time he reached the last of them, his arms and shoulders were aching from the repetitive strain. Charlie could only imagine what having the combined weight come crashing down on top of him would have felt like.

Finally completely uncovered, Charlie got his first good look at his brother. Don was lying on his stomach, his arms positioned in such a way that made the mathematician think he was lifting them to cover his head when the sky fell in. fear clutched at his throat as the sight of a large amount of blood coating the side of Don's face and the back of his head. His eyes were closed and Charlie reached out to touch the pale cheek. "Don," he called shakily, relieved to find the skin warm. "Wake up, bro." He placed his fingertips against his brother's neck, his brown eyes drifting shut when he felt a pulse, strong and steady, beneath the skin. "Don?"

Don stirred, then groaned softly. Charlie put a hand on his back, encouraging the other man to stay down. "Don?" he repeated. "Can you hear me bro?"

"…'rlie," Don slurred. He shifted again. "Lemme up."

Charlie pressed down. "Just lie still, Don," he said. "I'm going to call an ambulance."

"…No."

"Don…" Charlie began, but his brother stopped his protest.

"…'m fine, Charl," Don said, struggling to push himself up. "Lemme go."

Charlie sat back on his heels, watching as Don shakily got to his hands and knees, his head hanging between his shoulders. "I really think…" he tried again.

Don shook his head, wincing at the sudden movement. "…Be 'kay, Charl… help me up." He reached out for Charlie's hand.

Wrapping an arm around the older man's shoulders, Charlie slowly helped him to his feet, biting his lip in concern when Don staggered slightly. "Don," he said firmly. "I'm going to put you on the couch…"

"…S'good…"

"…And then I'm calling an ambulance," he finished. "No arguments." He guided his brother into the house and to the couch, easing him onto the cushions and putting a soft pillow behind his head as Don lay down. "Don't run off, now," he said as he straightened up. "I'll be right back."

Don gave him a crooked smile, his eyes already drifting shut. "No pr'mses…"

Charlie looked at him in alarm. "Don – don't go to sleep, okay?" he said. "Stay awake."

Groaning audibly, Don opened one eye. "Charl…"

"I mean it," the professor answered. He pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open. "No sleeping." He quickly punched in three digits. "I need an ambulance," Charlie said quickly when the call was picked up. He gave the address and a short explanation. "He keeps trying to go to sleep," he added. The operator assured him help was only a few minutes away and urged him to keep his brother talking. Without thinking, Charlie snapped the phone shut and shoved it into his pocket. "Don? Wake up."

"What's going on here?"

Charlie looked up in alarm to find his father standing in the open doorway, briefcase in hand. "Dad," he breathed. "You're home."

Alan set the case down and moved toward the couch. "What's wrong, Charlie?" he asked, glancing down at his oldest son. "Oh my god – Don!" He looked at Charlie in confusion. "What the hell happened?"

"He – he was in the garage, looking at my work," Charlie began. He could hear sirens, growing in volume. "I was in the kitchen. I think…"

"What?" Alan repeated, his eyes flitting from the man on the couch to the one beside it. "What do you think?"

Charlie swallowed. "I think one of the boards fell on him," he whispered. "Then some other ones did, too, and…"

Alan waved at him in exasperation, turning to Don. "Donny!" he said loudly, causing Charlie to jump. Don shifted restlessly. "Donny, wake up."

"…Go 'way…"

"Don Eppes, you wake up this instant," his father commanded. He thought for a moment. "You're going to be late for work."

Don's eyes opened groggily. "Wha…?"

"Wake up, bro," Charlie put in. "You're gonna be late."

Just then the front door opened and two paramedics rushed in, each carrying a large bag. "Where is he?" the first one asked.

Alan stepped back and gestured at the couch. "Right here."

The paramedics moved quickly, one of them examining the wound on Don's head while the other shone a light in his eyes. "Looks like a concussion," the first one announced. Looking up at the two Eppes men, he asked, "How did he get here?"

"I brought him in," Charlie began. At the paramedic's stern look, he went on hurriedly, "He was trying to get up and walk – I thought it would be better if he had help, in case…" He trailed off.

"I see," the man said. "Not the best plan, but better than chancing him falling again." He turned to his partner. "Get the gurney," he said. "And the board."

Charlie flinched. It was a board that started this mess. "Where are you taking him?" he asked.

"UCLA," the man replied shortly. "We can take one of you."

"…Don' need… hos'tle…" Don slurred.

The paramedic took a few packages from his bag and opened them, pressing pads of gauze against the wound on Don's head. "We just want to check you out, sir," he explained. "Won't take long." He began wrapping a gauze strip around Don's head.

The other paramedic re-entered, stretcher in tow. Together they fastened a cervical collar around Don's neck and slid the spinal board underneath his body, strapping him down and effectively immobilizing him. Don endured the process silently, his eyelids at half mast. "Sir?" the first medic asked. "How are you doing?"

Alan spoke. "His name is Don," he offered.

"Don," the medic began again. "Talk to me, okay?"

"G'way…"

"Combative," the second medic announced.

Charlie shook his head. "No, no," he put in. "He's usually short-tempered when he wants to sleep."

The first medic nodded. "On three," he said to his partner. Together they managed to get Don transferred to the gurney. "Is one of you coming with us?" he asked shortly.

Alan and Charlie exchanged glances. "I am," the elder Eppes said immediately. Charlie nodded once. He felt bad enough about the situation already without having to endure the half-hour trip under his father's disapproving glare. There'd be enough of that while waiting at the hospital for Don.

"I'll follow you," Charlie said as the group headed out the door. "I'll just…" He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, intending to say he would shut off the roast in the oven, but no one was listening to him. The door closed and he was left standing in the middle of the living room.

Moving to the sidelight window by the front door, Charlie watched his father climb into the ambulance after the gurney. The second paramedic slammed the door shut and hurried around the side of the ambulance. Within seconds it was speeding down the street, lights flashing. _Well, that's a good sign,_ Charlie thought to himself. _Don's not hurt badly enough to warrant using the siren… right?_

He sighed heavily and made his way to the kitchen. The oven was off, of course. Don said he'd turned it off earlier. Almost of their own volition, his feet carried him to the garage. Charlie stood just inside the doorway and looked over the chaos that had once been his makeshift workroom. He looked to where the heaviest of the chalkboards had come off its moorings. The screws appeared to have worked free of the wood that encased them, dropping the heavy slate to the floor. _To Don's head,_ Charlie amended ruefully. _What were the odds of that happening right when he was standing beneath it?_

**123454321**

Charlie chanced a sidelong look at his father. The two of them had been riding in silence since leaving the hospital twenty minutes ago and the tension was beginning to grate on the mathematician's nerves. By the time Charlie reached UCLA Medical Center, his brother was already being examined by the doctors in the ER and his father was pacing the waiting room angrily.

"Where have you been?" Alan demanded. "I thought you were going to be right behind us?"

"I was checking to make sure the stove was off," Charlie replied quietly.

His father rubbed weary hands over his face. "Okay… alright… I'm sorry," he said in a calmer tone. "It's just that… for all I know something could have dropped on your head, too, and there wouldn't have been anyone there to help you."

Charlie opened his mouth to apologize but was interrupted by the arrival of the ER resident. "For Eppes?" the man inquired. They listened as he detailed Don's injury, insisting that the agent would be fine although they intended to keep him for observation overnight. "If you want to see him," the man continued. "He'll be moved to a room on the third floor shortly. You can go up and wait for him there."

They spent a few minutes with a much more lucid Don when he was wheeled into the room. After assuring them both he'd be fine overnight, they said their goodbyes and headed back to the house, neither one speaking. Charlie pulled his little blue car into the driveway and turned off the ignition with a sigh. "Dad…" he began.

"It's your house," Alan interrupted, staring straight ahead. "I'm not going to tell you what to do with it."

"But?"

Alan turned in his seat. "But. Even a mathematician should be able to figure out that repetitive pressure on two inch and a half-long wood screws won't hold up a chalkboard for very long." He climbed out of the car and went inside.

Charlie sat for a moment. He was right, of course. The constant banging of chalk on a board – especially one hung at an angle like that – would loosen the screws eventually. It was an accident waiting to happen. Sighing heavily, he opened the door and got out, heading directly for the garage.

When he re-entered the house some time later, he found his father sitting in one of the comfortable armchairs in the living room, reading a newspaper. Alan lowered the pages and peered at him as he walked by. "If you're hungry, there's food on the stove," he said.

"No thanks," Charlie replied quietly. "I've got some work to do for tomorrow. I'll be in my room if you want me." He headed up the stairs, his father's gaze burning a hole in his back.

Once in his room, however, Charlie didn't set to work on his lesson plans. Instead he lay down on his bed, his head cushioned on his arms, and thought about what had happened. No matter what equation he used, the results were the same – the odds of that board falling on Don were overwhelming. _He gets shot at,_ Charlie mused. _He takes down criminals – dangerous, armed criminals – and walks away with barely more than a scratch. He stops to take a look at my math and gets brained by a chalkboard. Astounding._

**123454321**

True to his word, the doctor released Don the next morning with assurances that the agent shouldn't feel any lasting effects. Alan asked Charlie if he wanted to come with him when he went to pick up Don, but the mathematician begged off with the excuse that he had to go to the school to pick up some work he'd forgotten. Alan stared at him silently at this pronouncement, then turned and left the house without another word.

Charlie went to CalSci, made up the lesson plans he'd mentioned the night before, then spent the rest of the day trying to make some sense of the mess his office had become. He'd just managed to straighten the last of his bookshelves when the shrill ringing of his cell phone caught his attention. Charlie quickly pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Hey bro," Don's voice greeted warmly. "What are you doing?"

Glancing around his now-tidy office, Charlie replied, "Just putting away a few things."

Don was silent a moment. "Well, uh…" he began. "I just wanted to let you know it's almost suppertime."

Charlie looked at the clock on the wall. "Already?" he asked. "Oh wow – I didn't realize it had gotten that late. Is… did Dad tell you to call me?"

"No." A sigh hummed in his ear. "You can't keep avoiding me forever, Chuck."

"I'm not!" the mathematician protested. "I just had some things to do and I got caught up in it, that's all."

After a lengthy pause, his brother said, "Well, whenever you're done, there's food." Charlie opened his mouth to reply but Don had already disconnected. Surprised, he pocketed his phone, gathered up his book bag and headed home.

**123454321**

"Cut it out, will you?" Don said, ducking. No matter how he tried to reassure his father he was fine, the older man insisted his dressing be changed. "I told you – it's no big deal. Just a couple of stitches."

Alan frowned. "I don't call twelve stitches 'a couple', Don," he countered. "The doctor said the bandage needed to be changed, so let me do it."

"I know what he said," Don retorted. "I was there, remember?" Muttering, he added, "And I thought I was the one who got the knock on the head."

"Don't get smart with me, Don Eppes," Alan said, his tone stern. "You're never old enough to get away with lipping off to your father."

Don snorted. "Or what?" he asked. "You'll send me to my room without supper?"

"That's a very real possibility…"

"Yeah, right. Whatever."

Charlie walked through the front door at that moment. "You two are fighting?" he asked.

Both Don and Alan turned to him and began speaking at once. "I'm trying to get your brother to hold still…" "Dad won't quit fussing…"

Holding up his hands, Charlie said, "Wait, wait… I'm not getting in the middle of this." He set his bag on the floor by the door and shrugged out of his jacket. "I've caused enough trouble already," he murmured.

Don and Alan were stunned into silence. Charlie shoved his hands into his pockets and headed for the kitchen. "What's for supper?" he asked.

Exchanging a silent glance, the two elder men followed him into the other room. "It's chili," Alan replied, heading for the cupboard. "I'll get the bowls."

"I'll get the cutlery," Don said, heading for the counter.

Charlie watched them in silence for a moment. "I guess I'll get the bread, then," he said to no one in particular.

The meal was eaten quietly, none of them wanting to be the first to speak. Don pushed his food around the bottom of his bowl listlessly, alternating between looking at his brother and his father. Finally he dropped his spoon with a loud clatter, causing the other two men to jump. "Somebody say something!" he said. "It's like a tomb in here."

"What do you want me to say?" his father asked.

"I don't know… what did you do today?" Don turned to his brother. "What about you? What did you do today?"

Charlie shrugged. "Worked," he said simply. "Not much. Tidied my office a bit."

Don growled in frustration. Pushing back from the table, he got to his feet. "Where are you going?" Alan asked in alarm.

"Home," Don said shortly. "At least there I know why it's quiet." He headed for the front door.

Charlie got up as well. Picking up his dishes, he headed for the kitchen. Alan looked from one son to the other. "All right," he said suddenly. "Both of you – stop right there."

Don paused in the act of putting on his jacket, Charlie in opening the swinging door to the kitchen. "What?" Don asked.

"Both of you come back here and sit down," the older man commanded, setting his own bowl aside. "We need to talk."

Charlie looked at Don, who shrugged. They both resumed their seats slowly. "Well?" Don asked. "What are we talking about?"

Alan looked at Charlie, who was studying the wood grain in the tabletop. "Charlie," he began. "You're blaming yourself for what happened?"

"Why not?" he asked, not lifting his gaze. "You said so yourself – I should have known that board would fall."

"I did," Alan replied thoughtfully. "And I shouldn't have. I was upset. I'm sorry."

Charlie snorted. "You don't think I was upset too? It was my chalkboard that fell on Don's head."

Don held up a hand. "It was my head that the board fell on – I'm upset, too." He looked from his father to his brother.

Alan smirked slightly, then lifted his gaze to Charlie's face. The mathematician wasn't smiling. "Charlie…" he began. "It was an accident."

Charlie nodded once and got up from the table. "I know," he replied simply. "I'm going to bed." He headed upstairs, taking the steps two at a time.

Alan looked at Don helplessly. "I don't know what to do about this," he said at last.

"Leave him be," Don answered. "He'll snap out of it."

Shaking his head slowly, his father said, "He took them down."

"What?"

"The boards," Alan replied. "In the garage. They're gone."

Don's eyes widened in shock. Rising from the table, he headed for the garage, his father close behind. The two of them stood in the open doorway, staring into the interior. "I don't believe it," Don whispered.

To one who didn't know the Eppes, the garage looked like any other storage area-cum-laundry room. There were a few stacks of boxes lying about, but the chalkboards that had so completely covered every available surface were gone. The only evidence of their existence was a few chalk-dusty square outlines on the bare wood.

"Where are they?" Don asked.

Alan pointed. In one corner they could just see a row of wooden frames, tucked behind a large stack of boxes. "He put them all away," he said sadly.

"But… why?"

"Because of what happened… because of what I said… how he felt… who knows?" Alan shrugged. "I don't know what to do about this," he repeated.

Don rubbed his chin with one long finger thoughtfully. "You know," he mused. "They were fastened on there pretty good."

"Not that good."

"Well," Don replied. "Now it doesn't matter, does it?"

**123454321**

Charlie glanced up from the book he was reading. "Don!" he said in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

Taking off his sunglasses, Don surveyed the room before replying. "Seeing what you were up to," he said. "You weren't kidding, were you?"

"About what?" The professor glanced around. "I just… tidied it up a bit."

His brother frowned. "I'd say you more than 'tidied it up', Charlie – this office looks positively sterile."

It was the truth. Every book on the shelf was lined up precisely according to height, every stack of paper or sheaf of files put away. The various sculptures and games Charlie had had lying about his office were all gone. Even the infamous bowl of gumballs wasn't in evidence.

"What did you do with it all?"

Charlie lifted his shoulders in a small shrug before turning back to his book. "Storage, mostly," he replied shortly.

Don looked behind the door. "No mobile?" he asked. He peered around the corner. "No dart board?" He looked at his brother in concern. "This isn't you, Chuck."

"It is now," Charlie replied. "And don't call me Chuck."

Pulling up an armchair, Don lowered himself into it gingerly. He was still sore from his mishap. "It isn't – and it shouldn't be," he announced. "This won't help."

"'A clean office is the sign of and orderly mind'," Charlie quoted. "Or something like that."

"Right." Don glanced at the washed chalkboards. "And how much math have you worked on with this 'orderly mind' of yours?" he asked. "Finding it easier without the clutter, are you?"

Charlie snapped the book shut and stood. "I don't need you psychoanalyzing me, Don," he retorted. "What did you come here for, anyway? Just to criticize? Or was there something else?"

Holding up his hands defensively, Don said, "All right, all right. I get it." He sighed. "I came to ask you if you wanted to grab some lunch."

"No thanks." Charlie put the book carefully back on the shelf. "I've got classes in a few minutes I need to prepare for."

"Okay," Don replied slowly, getting to his feet. He watched as the younger man busied himself at his desk. "So… see you later, huh?" he asked.

Charlie glanced up. "You're coming over?"

Don's eyes narrowed. "Not tonight, I don't think," he answered. "But I'll see you around, okay?"

"Sure." Charlie averted his gaze.

A suspicion forming in his mind, Don left the room without another word.

**123454321**

"Sure, it's possible," Megan replied. "Your being there could make Charlie very uncomfortable in light of what happened."

Don nodded. "I thought so," he said. "He seems to be on edge whenever I'm around."

Megan leaned back in her chair. "A constant reminder of what happened?" she asked. "I wouldn't be surprised." She shrugged delicately. "That would explain the boards in the garage, too."

"And his office?"

"An extension of his paranoia," she said. When Don frowned, she added, "Don't act like the word 'paranoia' means 'psychotic'. It just means 'fear'."

Rubbing a hand through his close-cropped hair, Don said, "So… all of this… is just Charlie's way of coping?"

"No." Megan shook her head firmly. "He's not coping – he's avoiding. In order to cope, he's got to come to terms with the fact that what happened was an accident – a fluke." She sighed. "But you know Charlie… he doesn't believe anything is random."

"So what do you suggest?" Don asked. "That he work out a probability algorithm on the chances of it happening again?"

Megan pulled off her glasses and tapped the earpiece against her teeth as she thought. After a moment she answered, "No. The best way to overcome a fear is to confront it." She leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees. "You need to get him back in the garage with his chalkboards – and you – to show him it's perfectly alright."

"Kinda hard to do when he took them all down," Don said wryly. "And his office?" He waved a hand in frustration. "The place doesn't even look like his office anymore, Megan. It looks… I don't know… not Charlie."

"You know him better than anyone else I can think of, Don," Megan said. "You and your dad. I'm sure the two of you can come up with something."

Don pursed his lips in thought before glancing up at her, his eyebrows raised. "I certainly hope you're right."

She reached out and playfully slapped his arm. "Haven't you learned anything yet, Eppes?" she countered. "The woman is always right."

**123454321**

"You want me to what?" Amita's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You're joking, right?"

Don glanced around to make sure they weren't being overheard. "No, no, I'm not. Look…" He grabbed her elbow and steered her down the corridor towards Charlie's office. "How often do I ask you for a favor?" he asked. When she didn't reply he amended, "I mean, directly?"

"I can't think of…"

"Okay, so you'll do it?" Don looked at her hopefully. "Please, Amita – this is Charlie we're talking about."

Amita smirked. "Special Agent Don Eppes begging _me_ for a favor?" she said. "Do I get that in writing?" At Don's withering look she went on, "All right. I'll do it. On one condition."

"Name it."

She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "If this blows up in your face, you tell Charlie it was all your idea."

Don smiled. "No problem," he replied. "He'd never believe me if I said it wasn't anyway. He thinks you can do no wrong."

Amita smiled and ducked her head. "You're full of it, you know that?"

"It's in the job description."

**123454321**

Charlie stepped into his office, his attention on a file in his hands. He moved automatically to his desk and set the file down before lowering himself into his chair. A group of students passed by the open door, chattering noisily, and he glanced up for a second.

What he saw made him do a double-take.

His office, once pristine and almost sterile in its order, was now well-constructed chaos. Charlie slowly regained his feet and moved around his desk, noting for the first time the stacks of assignments, files, periodicals and books that littered the desktop. The bookshelves, so meticulously ordered, now contained piles of books lying on their side, interspersed with the occasional sheaf of notes. The mobile, dartboard – even the massive drum Larry had moved into a corner of his office a few weeks ago was back. A quick scan above eye level revealed the return of his mathematical sculptures and the inimitable bowl of multicolored gumballs. A smile quirked at the corners of Charlie's lips. Pulling out his cell phone, Charlie punched in a number and waited.

"Eppes."

"Don," Charlie said. "How did you…?"

His brother's harried tone cut him off. "Can't talk right now, Charlie – can it wait?"

Charlie blinked in surprise. "I… I guess so…"

"Good," Don said immediately. "I'll call you back." The phone hummed as the connection was broken.

Thoroughly puzzled, Charlie replaced the phone in his pocket and set about reorganizing his shelves. _My notes on 'continuous but nowhere differential functions' should be next to the paper containing an article on the Banach-Tarski Paradox,_ he mused. _Not deep-set theory and continuum hypothesis…_

His mind wandered happily as he browsed, the file on his desk forgotten.

**123454321**

"There you are!" Alan exclaimed as Charlie walked through the front door, a trace of his earlier contented smile still on his face. "Supper's almost ready. Have a good day today?"

Charlie nodded absently, dropping his bag by the door and shrugging out of his jacket. "It was fine," he said. "What's for supper?"

"Lemon chicken," his father replied. "And rice."

"Oh." Somewhat taken aback, Charlie chewed on his lip for second before asking, "Umm… you know I'm not that fond of lemon chicken, right?"

Alan flapped a dishtowel at him as he headed into the kitchen. "I know that, but your brother is."

Charlie blinked. "Don's here?" he called after the older man.

"In the garage."

Tension coiled in the pit of Charlie's stomach. The garage… Don was in the garage… "Alone?"

Alan poked his head out the door. "Of course he's alone," he retorted. "Who else did you think was here?" He disappeared back into the other room.

Charlie moved woodenly to the door connecting the garage to the house, his hand reaching for the doorknob of its own volition. There was no sound coming from the other side. _It's okay,_ Charlie thought. _The boards are gone – there's nothing in there to hurt him…_

He let out an audible gasp as he entered the garage. His traitorous chalkboards were back up on the walls – all of them – and his brother was paying them no heed as he sprawled on the old sofa situated directly underneath the largest of them, one arm thrown across his eyes as he attempted to rest. "Don!" Charlie burst out.

Don was on his feet in a second. "What is it?" he asked in alarm. "What happened?"

"You – you shouldn't be in here," Charlie stammered. "It's… it's…"

Sighing, Don relaxed, letting his shoulders slump. "Geez, Charlie," he admonished. "Damn near gave me a heart attack." He dropped back onto the worn cushions. "What's a guy gotta do to get some peace and quiet around here, anyway?"

Charlie was nearly frantic with worry. "Don, you have to get out of here," he said. "Those boards… they could…" He waved his hands helplessly.

Don groaned as he once again climbed off the sofa. "Charlie," he said, his voice holding a note of exasperation. There was a subtle glint in his eyes the mathematician couldn't quite decipher, though. Don reached up and grabbed the frame of the mammoth slate. "It's alright – see?"

Charlie's eyes widened in panic. "Don! Don't…!" he began, rushing forward. He stopped suddenly when he realized Don was tugging on the edge of the frame and smiling. "What…?" His gaze traveled up to where the other man's hand rested. A large L-shaped metal bracket was holding the board in place. Moving closer, Charlie could see the other end of the L was securely fastened to the wooden stringer behind it.

"See?" Don asked, letting go of the chalkboard. "Nothing to worry about."

All of the boards on the walls were attached in similar fashion, Charlie noted. The tops of the frames had metal plates bolted to them, which were in turn bolted to the roof's rafters, while the bottom corners were fastened back with the L brackets. "When did…?" The remaining portions of the walls also had chalkboards secured to them like impromptu paneling. Each board was fitted closely to its neighbor so the whole section of the garage resembled a finished room. "You?" he managed at last.

"Dad, mostly," Don said, pointing. Charlie looked over his shoulder to find his father standing in the doorway, a look of anticipation on his face. Charlie turned back as Don continued, "I helped a bit – when I could."

Charlie thought for a moment. "My office?"

Don averted his gaze. "I… had help there, too."

"Amita."

"I am under no obligation to reveal my… accomplices," Don intoned with a grin.

Nodding, Charlie stepped closer and reached a tentative hand upward. "May I?"

Don moved back, allowing his brother room to test the security of the chalkboards for himself. Gingerly at first, and then with more force, Charlie pulled at the wooden frames, unconsciously hunching his shoulders at the anticipated cataclysm. When none appeared, he let out the breath he'd been holding and stepped back.

"Do they pass, Professor?" Alan asked from his position in the doorway.

"Yeah," Charlie replied softly. In a stronger voice he repeated, "Yeah, they do. They're on there pretty good, aren't they?"

Don clapped a hand on his shoulder. "They won't be going anywhere for a long time, buddy."

Charlie turned. "I'm sorry about…" he began, but his brother cut him off.

"Listen, Charlie. Accidents happen. That's why they're called 'accidents'." Don sighed. "I'm sure that somewhere in your theorems and formulas you'll find something that says it could have been predicted, but…" He shrugged. "The fact of the matter is – it was an accident. Nobody's fault."

"He's right, Charlie," their father put in sincerely. "Nobody is to blame for what happened. I'm sorry for what I said to you before."

Charlie thought for a moment. "He's wrong about one thing, though," he said at last.

Don's eyebrows went up. "I am?" he asked. "About what?"

"It's 'formulae'," Charlie smirked. "Not 'formulas'."

Rolling his eyes, Don slung an arm over the younger man's shoulders and steered him towards the door. "Whatever, Chuck. Let's eat. I'm starving."

"It's also 'formulas', genius," Alan supplied, stepping away from the entrance and heading to the kitchen. "Either one is correct."

Charlie ducked out from under his brother's arm. "Don't call me Chuck," he said. "And it's 'formulae', Dad," he called out.

"Sure thing, _Chucky_," Don needled. "We're definitely going to trust your grammar skills." He pulled out a chair at the dining room table and sat down. "Since you're such an expert."

Pausing in the act of taking a sip of water from his glass, Charlie countered, "And I suppose your math is good enough to say I'm wrong… _Donny-boy?"_

"Geek."

"Ape."

"Nerd."

"Jock."

"Boys! Enough!" Alan commanded as he re-entered the room carrying a casserole dish. "I swear – one of these days you two are going to send me right around the bend."

Don grinned. He mouthed the word 'egghead'. Charlie mouthed back 'gorilla'.

Setting the dish on a hot mat Alan warned, "Don't make me send you both to your rooms."

Exchanging a crafty look, the younger men chorused, "Yes, Father."

Sighing heavily, Alan muttered, "I _knew_ I should have gotten that condo."

**FINIS**


End file.
